


Calculate the Damage

by Murphtastic



Series: If you're not reloading (you're firing) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Non Consensual touching, Violence, allusions to drug use, no actual rape, threats of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murphtastic/pseuds/Murphtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danger in Beacon Hills doesn't always come in the form of werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calculate the Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my good friends Rinna and Misha. Rinna spent a year pimping Teen Wolf to me and I was stubborn until I wasn't. She's been a huge help in navigating the fandom. Both she and Misha have been excellent to bounce ideas off of and put up with my many, many texts about what I'm writing. I think the word "tease" was tossed around a few times.
> 
> Story titles provided by The Headstones.

Stiles blamed Scott for this disaster. If he got out of this— _when_ he got out of this--Scott was going to owe him so many things. The least of which would be curly fries for life. This would be lorded over Scott for years to come. Stiles would never lose an argument again. “Hey, Scott, remember the time you stood me up for that movie and I got kidnapped?” A blackmail American Express or something—it’ll never go out of style.

  
Of course, Scott might argue that Stiles didn’t have to go to the movie by himself. Which is totally true, but Stiles was pretty goddamn sick of Scott bailing on plans to try and catch a glimpse of Allison from afar or because “Isaac called and he really needed me, Stiles.” So maybe, just maybe, Stiles was sick and fucking tired of being left out. He didn’t care about Scott mooning over Allison. Whatever, situation normal, there. But being excluded from werewolf shit? Not cool. And there was excluding going on. Oh ho _ho_ , was there excluding going on. A guy can only walk in on so many conversations that cut off right when he shows up before he starts to take a hint. Stiles let it go on longer than he should have, hoping that Scott would pull his head out of his misguided ass and let Stiles in on the secret, but nope, hadn’t happened.

  
What was happening was Stiles doing some serious evaluating of shit. He was the epitome of _look at your life, look at your choices_ these days. Tonight’s movie was Stiles trying to give Scott the chance to fix it. To fix the friendship that seemed to have fallen by the wayside. Stiles didn’t doubt that Scott was trying to keep him out of whatever was going down in an effort to keep him safe, but WTF for real. Stiles had been by Scott’s side since this started. It was his fault Scott got bit in the first place. Stiles had an obligation here. And Stilinskis do not shirk obligations. One of the first and best lessons his dad has ever taught him: _You fuck up, you fix it_.

  
So. Movie. With Scott. Building bridges instead of burning them. Aces. Best idea ever. Get in some good old BFF time with his very own BFF.

  
Except Scott had texted an hour before the movie started that he couldn’t make it. The notorious “something” had reared its ugly head. Stiles got actual excuses at first, but that had gradually morphed into "something". Stiles didn’t even have it in him to be surprised. There was a distinct lack of surprise being felt, is what he was saying.

  
So he’d said fuck it and decided to go anyway. Dad was working late--his turn on night shift this week--and Stiles didn’t feel like facing an empty house and leftover Indian food. Popcorn with lots of fake butter and Junior Mints sounded awesome. Maybe nachos and an ICEE, too.

  
The movie was good—would have been better with a friend—but most movies were like that. Stiles had been walking to his Jeep, keys in hand, trying not to think too much about anything in particular (like the dawning realization that he might have to get used to doing a lot of things without Scott), when he’d heard someone say “Hey, Stilinski!” Stiles had turned around, trying to see who was calling him, and heard the scuffing of shoes on the pavement behind him too late. Someone shoved him hard and Stiles stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, keys flying out of his hand and skittering across the pavement.

  
He’d struggled to stand up, brain screaming at him to move, to get away, when a man had stepped in front of Stiles and loomed over him. He’d watched the man's hand curl into a fist and Stiles had a second to say “Wait—“ before the fist swung towards him and then it was all blinding pain and bye bye consciousness--Stiles was taking a holiday.

  
****

  
Waking up was painful. Oh, so painful. His whole head ached. Moving was out of the question. Mostly because he’d been stuffed into a trunk and his buddies had kindly trussed him up like a turkey. Stiles couldn’t even move enough to try and kick out a taillight or find a trunk release. Even shuffling around as best he could made his head spin and his stomach roil. His face throbbed in time with his pulse and it made Stiles want to puke. The yard and a half of duct tape gagging him ensured that throwing up was a bad idea. His kidnappers had also stuffed some kind of rag in Stiles’ mouth, too, just for added humiliation. All Stiles could taste was motor oil and old gasoline. He took shallow breaths through his nose and willed himself not to vomit.

  
Stiles held it together until the car hit a pothole the size of the Grand Canyon and he sort of met the trunk lid with his face before bouncing back onto the carpet. Once he landed, Stiles decided it was a better idea to hang out in a half conscious haze. It was pretty awesome because all his hurts sort of faded into the background for a little while. He didn’t fully come to until he was dragged out of the trunk, tossed over someone’s shoulder and carted up some steps into a house.

  
Whoever was carrying him dropped Stiles unceremoniously on a very hard floor. Stiles couldn’t stop the muffled shout of pain from escaping and paid for it when a foot buried itself in his side. He lay there stunned, tried to remember how to breathe. Stiles half listened to the voices above him. Definitely two guys and they sounded pissed about someone getting arrested.

  
Stiles let his eyes slit open until he could see a dirty pair of boots a few feet away. From the looks of it, they’d taken Stiles to a house of some sort. He let his eyes open a bit more. All he could really see was a dirty floor covered in what might have once been carpet but was threadbare in some spots and completely gone in others. The floor tilted alarmingly when Stiles moved his head even the slightest bit.

  
One of the voices said “Someone’s awake, I see.” and that was all the warning Stiles got before two hands fisted his shirt and hauled him upright. Stiles found himself staring at one of the scariest (and ugliest) guys he’d ever seen. There was a cruel tilt to the man’s smile and something about it chilled Stiles to the bone. Had Stiles seen him on the street, he would have nudged Scott and told him to watch out for the creeper.

  
“Well, hey there, Sleeping Beauty. I’m impressed. I thought you’d be out for longer.” Creeper shook Stiles a bit and smirked. "I guess my right hook needs a little work, eh?"

  
Stiles let himself dangle in the guy’s grip. Fighting wouldn’t do him any good right now and it wasn’t like he was going to be able to do any damage with his hands tied behind his back. So Stiles let the guy hold him up while he did his best to memorize Creeper’s face. Creeper seemed to be doing the same thing before his eyes flickered to something behind Stiles.

  
“Hold him up.” Creeper said and Stiles gagged on the smell of the man who moved up behind him and grabbed his arms. Gross. How long did someone have to skip showering before they smelled like that? The smell distracted Stiles from realizing that Creeper was going through his pockets. Once he found Stiles’ phone he stopped and patted Stiles on the cheek. “Drop him.”

  
Smelly didn’t have a problem taking orders and Stiles found himself in a heap on the floor again. Creeper smiled down at him and Stiles flinched backwards, hitting Smelly’s legs. Smelly kicked him. Then kicked him a few more times, each one a little harder than the last. Stiles couldn’t do anything but curl into a ball to take the hits and hope he got out of this with no broken ribs.

  
Finally, Creeper motioned Smelly back and crouched down by Stiles’ head. “Need you to be a good boy and stay quiet. You can do that, right?” He ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair and Stiles did his best to nod. “Hmm, somehow I don’t believe you.” The fingers in his hair tightened and then Creeper slammed Stiles’ face into the floor. When this was all over, he was going to take a long look at what exactly seemed to draw people into slamming his face and/or body into hard, unforgiving surfaces. It was starting to become a disturbing trend.

  
In the meantime, though, it seemed like a good time to pass out again.

  
****

  
“You got a good looking kid, Sheriff.” Creeper leered at Stiles and then winked. “Real cute, if you know what I mean.”

  
Stiles didn’t know what his dad was yelling, but whatever he was saying, it was loud enough for Stiles to hear, but not understand. Creeper held Stiles’ phone away from his ear and pulled an exaggerated face, rolling his eyes. Stiles shifted, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. He ached everywhere but the brightest spots of pain were reserved for his face (maybe just a bad bruise, but something didn’t feel _right_. It felt jagged and wrong; the skin of his left cheekbone and eye had swelled, feeling tight and making black dots crowd the corners of his eyes whenever Stiles made a face. Which was all the time.) and his ribs (kicked way too many times, maybe more after he’d passed out that second time. Knowing these guys, definitely more.).

  
His shoulders are starting to join the chorus of the other small, but growing aches and his old friend nausea was still around. Stiles doesn’t know how long he was unconscious but long enough for his hands to go numb from whatever they’d tied his wrists behind his back with. Probably the same thin twine wrapped around his ankles. Before his fingers had gone completely numb, he’d been able to feel a warm stickiness that could only be blood. Stiles shifted again, almost toppling over this time. Hard to maintain a sitting position while tied like this, but Stiles was goddamn well going to do his best even if his balance sucked. Shifting position also had the added benefit of being able to feel the knife strapped to his ankle. The assholes hadn't even bothered to search him, obviously thinking that Stiles wouldn't have anything like a knife. Gibbs’ Rule Number 9, motherfuckers. Who said TV was useless? Also, Sheriff’s kid. These guys were definitely morons.

  
Was it a sad commentary on his life that people underestimated him?

  
Stiles went with no. Because these dickweeds deserved to have hell brought down on their stupid, meth addicted heads. He just needed the right moment. Their using Stiles' cell phone means his dad is going to be able to track it. Stiles would bet anything that Dad already had a deputy contacting the cell company. After that, it’d just be a matter of time before they found him. Preferably still in one piece.

  
Now that he got a better look at them, Creeper and his buddy (possibly brother—but maybe they’ve both just been rolling in the same dirt pile) Smelly are probably the most disgusting people Stiles has ever had the displeasure of seeing. They’re filthy, wearing clothes covered in stains. Their hair is long and greasy and probably hasn’t been washed in months. They smell disgusting and they have mean eyes. Stiles didn’t think Beacon Hills had this kind of grossness around, but Dad had mentioned there was an uptick in drug activity lately and told him to be careful. Stiles didn’t think these two were any kind of masterminds but from the sounds of it their other brother (buddy? Fellow greaser?) had been busted a couple of days ago. Maybe he was the brains of the operation.

  
Creeper put the phone back to his ear and said “Now, now, Sheriff. Is that any way to talk to someone who’s taking care of your little boy?” He stepped over to Stiles and smiled down at him with a mouthful of teeth that reminded Stiles of Gollum. He shuddered a little and Creeper’s smile went wider, more predatory. Stiles dropped his eyes and focused on the weird blob shaped stain on the knee of Creeper’s jeans. It looked sort of like a butterfly. Creeper made an “mmhmm” noise to whatever Dad was yelling and moved until he was standing behind Stiles. Stiles closed his eyes and braced for the expected punch or kick or maybe both.

  
It didn’t come.

  
What happened instead was that Creeper dropped onto his knees and shuffled closer until Stiles could feel the heat of the other man’s body against his back. He shuddered again and tried to scootch forward to get away but Creeper looped an arm around Stiles’ chest and yanked him back. He fought the hold, but with no leverage and ribs that voiced their displeasure very vocally, Stiles ended up being pulled back against Creeper’s chest. “He’s just so fucking cute, Sheriff. Don’t you think?” Creeper rubbed a thumb over Stiles’ right nipple and gave a pleased hum at the desperate noise that escaped Stiles. “You hear that, Sheriff? He likes me.”

  
Creeper had the phone close enough for Stiles to hear his dad this time. “If you touch a fucking hair on his head, I swear to god!” And yeah, normally Stiles would be rolling his eyes at the cliché, but fuck if it wasn’t good to hear his dad’s voice--even if it was raised in fear and anger.

  
Stiles made another noise, this one pained, when Creeper’s fingers threaded through strands of Stiles’ hair and yanked hard on it until Stiles thought his neck would break (why had he thought growing out the buzz was a good idea, again?). “He’s a sweet kid, Sheriff. You’ll get him back when we get Carmichael back. We don’t get Carmichael—“ Creeper pulled Stiles’ head to the side and licked his neck before biting down hard, nasty teeth breaking skin. Stiles gave a muffled shout at the sharp pain. He could feel Creeper smile against his neck before his mouth moved away. “Well. Let’s just say that if we don’t get Carmichael back, me and Reese are gonna have lots of fun with your boy. Don’t worry, though. He’ll enjoy every second of it. Probably.”

  
Whatever his father might have said to that was lost to Stiles. His vision whited out and his head buzzed at the thought of—of being assaulted. Being _raped_ by Creeper and his buddy. Their hands were dirty and they smelled bad and they wanted to _hurt_ him. Stiles broke out into a cold sweat and his heart started moving a mile a minute. He forced himself to try and calm down before he started having trouble breathing. The last thing he needed to happen was a panic attack. He had to stay calm and keep his shit together. Just do that and the rest would sort itself out. There was time to have all the panic attacks in the world once this was over, but right now? Now he was going to be calm and cool and do everything in his power to fuck these guys over. He had his knife and these guys seemed more like the “throw someone in a room or closet and then go get high” kind of kidnappers. Stiles just needed them to leave him alone.

  
Stiles faded back in to find himself laying on the floor and Creeper standing over him and snarling at his dad to “Wait for a call tomorrow.” before he hung up and threw Stiles’ phone across the room. It landed with a clatter but seemed to stay in one piece. Stiles hoped the heavy duty case he’d bought for it was doing its job otherwise he was going to be out another phone.

  
A booted foot dug hard into his side and Stiles tried to squirm out of the way. Creeper laughed meanly and dug the toe of his boot in a little harder. “Looks like you’re our guest tonight. Better hope Daddy Dearest makes good on his promise. Actually, “ Creeper said as he studied Stiles, head tilted to the side. “kinda hope he _doesn’t_ , you know? You taste sweet. Bet you feel even sweeter.”

  
Stiles glared up at Creeper and yelled “Fuck you!” but it came out as a pitiful grumble. Creeper looked delighted, though, hunkered down next to Stiles and grabbed his head. Stiles thrashed around a bit and groaned when it made the room spin even faster than it already was. “Shut up a second. Just going to take care of this,” and started unwinding the duct tape wrapped around Stiles’ head. Stiles tried not to flinch when more than a few hairs on the back of his head ripped out. Creeper slowed to a crawl when it came to getting the tape off his skin and mouth and just generally took a lot of pleasure in the pained noises Stiles made as he peeled it off inch by inch.

  
Stiles’ lips felt swollen and like they were missing some skin. He made to spit out the rag in his mouth but Creeper grabbed his chin and said “Open.” Stiles glared, but did as he was told and tried not to gag when filthy fingers reached into his mouth and pulled out the rag. “You want some water?”

  
Stiles _really_ wanted some water but he had a more pressing need at the moment. “Uh,” he said, coughing a little. “Yeah, but. I—bathroom? Need to use it.” He coughed again. “Um. Please can I use the bathroom?”

  
“I don’t know, can you?”

  
Jesus. Like Stiles was in fucking kindergarten here. He resisted rolling his eyes. Stiles had to be careful here. Dad had told him about guys like this. They were just looking for an excuse to hurt him. _Don’t be that excuse, Stiles. Walk away._

  
He couldn't walk away at the moment but he had to make nice, pretend to be nothing special. Just a stupid high school kid who didn’t know anything about anything. Stiles could do that. He licked his lips, raw patches that tasted of blood making themselves known. “Please may I use the bathroom?”

  
Creeper patted him on the head and Stiles repressed a shudder. “That’s better. Don’t want you pissing yourself and making the house smell.”

  
Personally, Stiles thought some pee might make the house smell better and maybe a bulldozer. “Um, thank you. Can you—can you untie me? I can’t—you know—holy shit!” Stiles recoiled from the knife (huge, giant knife, oh my _god_ ) that Creeper whipped out from behind his back. He smacked the back of his head on the floor and saw stars for a few minutes and missed Creeper slicing through the twine around his ankles.

  
Creeper sat him up and pulled Stiles' upper body forward until his forehead was resting on Creeper's shoulder. Stiles took short shallow breaths through his mouth to try and avoid the worst of the stink. It didn’t work; all the showers in the world weren't going to make Creeper stink any less. He felt the knife sawing through the twine around his wrists and a few seconds later, his arms flopped forward. Stiles tried to pull himself back from Creeper, but none of his limbs wanted to obey. He rolled his shoulders experimentally and it felt like his muscles were on fire, it hurt so badly. The pain combined with his huge and getting bigger headache pulled a hurt, broken noise from him. "Oh, shit, no. Ow." Stiles could hardly recognize his voice slurring the words.

  
Creeper made a shushing noise and to Stiles' utter horror, ran his hand up and down Stiles' back in an attempt at comfort. "Hey, you're okay. Shh." Creeper's hand moved from Stiles' back to his neck and rested there, palm sweaty and too hot against his skin. Stiles tried to squirm away again but didn’t get far. His arms and hands started to tingle and hurt as feeling slowly returned to them. Creeper's hand tightened on the back of Stiles' neck and made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, so Stiles let himself go limp.

  
"There you go." Creeper's thumb rubbed his neck in what Stiles assumed was supposed to be a comforting manner. It wasn't. At all. But Stiles had to pick his battles and if being groped by a creepy pedo kidnapper was the worst thing that happened to him, well. He could deal with that. He would deal with it. Probably with therapy. A whole lot of therapy.

  
"Hey," Creeper's hand tightened and he pulled Stiles back until they were face to face. "Hey, I'm Jason."

  
Stiles wanted to laugh in the guy's face. He wanted to do introductions after he'd molested Stiles and threatened to rape him? That was--that was just _great_. That was the best thing _ever_. But he could hear his dad's voice reminding him to play along, do what it took to stay alive. Stiles licked his lips again and noticed how Jason's eyes followed the movement. "I'm--I'm Stiles." And he was still slurring a little. Great. Headache, dizziness, nausea--Stiles had never had a concussion before but it seemed like he'd won the lottery tonight.

  
Still-a-creeper-Jason smiled and the same cruel edge Stiles had noticed before was still there. "Stiles, hmm? Nice to meet you, Stiles."

  
"I'd say the same, but you know. You kidnapped me and hit me a bunch of times." Well, there went not pissing off his new friends.

  
"Mmm, be nice." Jason's hand on Stiles neck clamped down like a vise. Stiles whimpered as one of his fingers dug into the bite mark that Stiles had forgotten about until just now. Jason shook him a little and stared into Stiles' eyes. "You behave and I won't have to hurt you. Understand?"

  
Stiles opened his mouth to say _Yeah, sure, you've done a bang up job so far_ but shut it again and nodded, did his best to look weak and scared. Neither were hard to fake.

  
"Good boy." Jason stood up and pulled Stiles up along with him. The trip through the house to what passed for the bathroom consisted of Jason essentially dragging Stiles through the house and Stiles stumbling along after his kidnapper and wondering when this became his life. “Don’t close the door.” Jason grunted and shoved Stiles into the bathroom.

  
Stiles didn’t think it was possible for a bathroom to be this disgusting. This was _Hoarders_ level of mess. He finally lost the battle with his nauseous stomach and retched into a toilet that probably hadn’t been cleaned since it was installed. That thought just make him retch harder. After an eternity kneeling on tile sticky with urine, Stiles finally sat back on his heels and wiped a shaky hand over his mouth. He flushed, peed (while sending up a silent prayer that he wasn’t pee shy and also that Jason wasn't looking at his dick), flushed again, and tried not to look at the man in the doorway. He took his time washing his hands, which was hard to do because he didn’t actually want to touch the faucet handles.

  
Eventually Jason got tired of it and reached in and shut off the water. He grabbed Stiles by the arm again, grip too tight to be comfortable, and drug him up a set of stairs. Jason’s maybe brother Reese met them at the top of the stairs, twine in one hand, a roll of duct tape in the other. Super. Great. Two of Stiles’ favorite things.

  
The room Jason pushed Stiles into was as dirty as the rest of the house, but had nothing but a mattress shoved in one corner and an old school radiator in the other corner. The only light came from a single bare bulb in a cluster of burnt out bulbs in a what had probably been a light fixture at one time but was now just dangling from the ceiling. There was a window in the room, bare of any curtains or blinds.

  
All in all, it looked like a pretty fucking horrible place to be. But there was a window and Stiles had his knife and it was pretty clear they were going to tie him up and leave. He tried not to look too closely at the mattress. It was covered in stains and looked seriously unpleasant. Jason followed Stiles’ gaze and leaned in to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “You be a good boy and all we’ll do is tie you to that radiator there. You act out or piss me or Reese off and…” he trailed off, shooting a meaningful glance at the mattress. “Well, let’s just say I’ll make good on that promise to your daddy.”

  
Stiles swallowed hard. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  
“Aw, so sweet. Isn’t he sweet, Reese?”

  
“Whatever,” Reese grunted. “Can we just get this over with so I can smoke up?”

  
“You’re dumber than a post, but sometimes you have good ideas. Move, kid.”

  
Jason led Stiles over to the radiator and started to pull his wrists behind his back. Stiles’ shoulders screamed in protest. “Wait!” he gasped out. “Wait! Please, not behind my back. It hurts.” Stiles turned to look at Jason as best he could and bit his lip. “Maybe tie them in front? Please? It really hurts the other way.” He bit down on his lip again and tried to look innocent and—god help him—alluring. Stiles knew it worked when he saw Jason’s eyes darken. Stiles licked his lips for good measure and looked away, eyes on the floor.

  
“I suppose.” Jason said roughly and turned Stiles back around to face him. He bound Stiles’ wrists with the twine and Stiles winced when he pulled it tight. “Sit. Put your back against the radiator.” Both men knelt down on either side of him and looped the twine throughthe radiator and then around Stiles. They cinched it tight and Stiles groaned at the pain from ribs. Next was more twine around his ankles, and Stiles held very still, not wanting either of the men to discover his hidden knife.

  
Last was the duct tape. Stiles shook his head when Jason ripped off a piece. “No, please. I’ll be quiet.”

  
Jason shook his head. “Can’t take the risk of you yelling for help.” He pressed the tape over Stiles’ mouth and took his time smoothing it down, fingers lingering longer than necessary. Then he sat back a little and glanced at Reese before turning his gaze back to Stiles. “You know, I almost want to leave Carmichael to rot in jail and just take him with us.” Stiles felt his eyes widen and he made a muffled noise of protest.

  
“Man, that’s stupid. This kid won’t be good for anything but whoring out and you know it. We need Carmichael.” Reese punched Jason in the upper arm. “Now can we _please_ get the fuck out of here and go smoke up?”

  
Jason sighed. “Suppose I would get tired of him after a while. But if the Sheriff doesn’t give us Carmichael, Stiles here will get to enjoy our company before we kill him. Fair?”

  
“Yeah, fair. Now can we go, for christ’s sake?”

  
Both men stood and Jason pointed at Stiles. “You remember what I said.”

  
Stiles nodded and stared at the floor until the light turned off and they closed the door behind them. He could hear them clomping down the stairs. A few minutes after that, the faint sound of a sports game of some kind reached his ears.

  
He sat in the dark for a long time and tried not to think.

  
****

  
It was harder getting to his knife than Stiles expected it would be. Jason had tied the twine tight around his ankles so he had to tug and yank on the leg of his jeans to get it out from under the twine. It took a long time and Stiles jumped at every little noise he heard. He couldn’t see any nearby houses out of the window, but that didn’t mean they were in the country. A lot of houses in the older areas of Beacon Hills were spaced pretty far apart.

  
That is, if he was still _in_ Beacon Hills. Stiles froze at the thought. It was almost too horrible to contemplate. He made himself shake it off and get back to work. He knew Dad was on his way to wherever Stiles was at and freaking out about it wasn’t going to do any good right now.

  
Stiles almost whooped for joy when he got his pants leg out from under the twine. His knife was still tucked into the magazine holster he’d temporarily appropriated from the sheriff’s department. They were hardly ever used so Stiles didn’t feel too bad about borrowing it. He’d get it back to them eventually.

  
He cut through the twine around his ankles first, sighing in relief when it finally loosened.

  
Getting his wrists untied was another story. It was an awkward angle and Stiles lost count of the times the knife slipped and sliced into his skin due to his numb fingers. The blood made it worse and Stiles let himself cry a little when the last string of twine snapped free. He had to pull some of the pieces of twine out of his skin where they’d embedded themselves and that was worth a few tears, because that shit hurt.

  
Finally he cut the ties holding his body to the radiator and peeled off the duct tape gag. He cursed silently as the tape pulled a few more patches of skin off his lips. After that, Stiles sat there for a bit and let the feeling come back into his hands and feet and took deep breaths. The bleeding hands were a problem, but he didn’t want to risk the turning the light on and Jason or Reese seeing it. There was a little ambient light coming in from the window and Stiles’ eyes had adjusted enough that he could make his way over to the window, shoving the knife in his pocket as he went.

  
He’d lucked out when he discovered this bedroom was on the back of the house. If the two men were back in that front room he might be able to get out of the house without them seeing. Either way, Stiles needed to get the fuck out of here.

  
Stiles unlatched the window as quietly as he could, listening hard for anyone coming up the stairs. The window was warped with age and didn’t want to open easily, but Stiles took it slow and wiggled it upwards an inch at a time. He stopped periodically to listen, but could still only hear the TV. Stiles thought he caught some movement in the back yard, but when he looked closer there was nothing there. Stiles hoped that there wasn’t some starving dog down there waiting to eat him.

  
The window opened out on to an overhang and Stiles hoped there would be a safe place to drop onto the ground. No way to find out until he got out there. Stiles held the window open with one hand and sat on the sill. He eased one leg out and then the other, listening carefully the whole time. After a few minutes of hearing nothing, he scooted out onto the roof and went up on his knees to let the window slide closed as quietly as possible.

  
Stiles forced himself to move at a snail’s pace to the edge of the roof. He didn’t want to risk a loud noise bringing Jason or Reese upstairs to discover he was gone. There was no good place to drop off in front of the window, but Stiles could see what looked like an old junker of a car along the side of the house, so he crawled slowly over to it. Bits of shingle and dirt got caught in the cuts on his hands, but Stiles ignored the sting and concentrated on moving carefully and quietly.

  
The hood of the car looked to be at least a ten foot drop from the overhang. The noise of Stiles landing on it was for sure going to carry into the house. He’d have to move fast and hope that he was able to run after he landed. Or at least limp away really fast.

  
Stiles was almost ready to inch backwards off the roof when he heard a whispered “Stiles! Stiles, wait!” He froze. Whoever that was, it wasn’t Jason or Reese. Stiles crawled back to the edge of the roof and looked over.

  
Seeing the side yard full of the half of the tri county SWAT team and Beacon County deputies was pretty fucking cool Stiles had to admit.

  
And it looked like his dad was right there with them.

  
“Dad? Is that you?” Stiles couldn’t quite make out his dad’s face, but it was him. Had to be. “There’s just two of them that I know of and they’re downstairs. Or at least they were. Front room, I think. Might be high on something, so be careful.”

  
One of the SWAT guys made some complicated hand gestures and the team started to spread out around the house. “Stiles,” Dad said. “Just stay there for now, okay? We’re going to take care of them and then we’ll get you out of here.” Stiles nodded and moaned when the dizziness from earlier reappeared. “Son, are you hurt?”

  
Stiles let his face rest on the shingles. They were nice and cool. “Concussion, I think. Threw up a while ago. Dizzy and my head hurts like crazy. Ribs, too, I think.”

  
The sound of windows breaking and doors being kicked in drowned out whatever Dad was going to say. Stiles could hear the SWAT guys yelling about police and hands up and don’t move. Stiles rolled carefully onto his back and rested his hands on his chest. Now that he didn’t have to escape his very own _Last House on the Left_ , Stiles felt like maybe it was time for a nap. Time spent unconscious didn’t count as rest and Stiles was so tired.

  
He didn’t get a chance to sleep, though. Or maybe he did because a SWAT guy was suddenly next to Stiles and urging him up and back over to the window he’d come out of earlier. More SWAT guys were waiting to help him back into the house. They guided Stiles down the steps. Jason and Reese were face down in the front room, zip ties securing their wrists and ankles, SWAT standing watch over them.

  
Then they were out the front door and Dad was there, looking relieved and more than a little terrified. Stiles could relate. He was still pretty terrified, too. “Dad,” Stiles breathed and then he was being hugged carefully. He buried his face in his dad’s shoulder and tried not to shake. “Knew you’d come.”

  
“Oh, Stiles. Of course I did.” Dad held on a little longer and then pulled back to examine Stiles. “You pretty much rescued yourself, though.”

  
Stiles tried on a smile. It hurt his lips, but he kept it up. “Mostly I was going to hope I didn’t sprain an ankle and then run like hell. Not the best plan.”

  
Dad hugged him again. “Hey, no,” he whispered in Stiles’ ear. “You did great.”

  
“I don’t think we were dealing with criminal masterminds or anything. You tracked my phone, right?”

  
“Yeah, but we had it narrowed down to this place and two others before the GPS data came in. We were about to send out teams to check the other houses and then the cell company confirmed this area, so we knew this was the right place.”

  
Stiles let out a shaky breath. His dad was the best cop ever. He stepped back a little and ducked his head, not wanting to cry in front of everyone. Stiles lifted his hand to wipe them away when Dad grabbed his wrist. “Stiles, your hands. What happened? Did they?”

  
“Oh. No. ” Now that Stiles could see his blood smeared hands in the light he could see why his dad looked panicked. “I used my knife to get free, but it was dark and I kind of missed a few times.”

  
“A few?”

  
“Maybe eight. I stopped counting.”

  
Stiles let his dad lead him towards the ambulance that was waiting. “Since when do you carry a knife?”

  
Dad’s arm around Stiles was careful and cautious and Stiles’ eyes sting with tears again. “I dunno. Just seemed like it would be a good thing to have handy.” He sighed. “’m tired, Dad. Can I sleep? Let me sleep, please.”

  
They reached the ambulance and the paramedics already had the stretcher out. “Not yet, Stiles. Just hang in there a bit longer. You’ll be able to sleep soon.” Dad helped Stiles up onto the stretcher and kept one hand on his arm the whole time the paramedics were checking him over and starting IVs and bandaging things that were still oozing blood.

  
“Never going to a movie alone again. “ Stiles mumbled.

  
“I thought you were going with Scott?” Dad climbed into the ambulance as they loaded him in and sat next to one of the paramedics.

  
Stiles shook his head and winced at the loud noise of the doors slamming shut. “No, he couldn’t make it. Sorry, I shouldn’t have gone by myself. I won’t do it again.”

  
Dad rubbed his arm. “Hey, hey. No, this wasn’t your fault. I was just surprised, is all.”

  
Stiles really didn’t want to go into the whole thing about Scott right now. “Okay. Dad, can I sleep yet?”

  
His dad looked helplessly at the paramedics. “I don’t know, Stiles. Guys?”

  
The paramedic on the other side of Stiles nodded and Stiles sighed in relief. “I’m gonna sleep now. Tell you all about it later, kay?”

  
“Sure, Stiles. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  
Stiles didn’t fight the tide of sleep that was pulling him down. Explaining everything was going to take forever and Stiles wasn’t looking forward to telling his dad about what had been going on with Scott. Time enough to worry about that later. Right now all that mattered was that he was safe, his dad had come for him, and everything would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a sequel planned. There are loose ends I must tie up!
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/murphlicious) if you're into that sort of thing.


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